


no amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Cheating, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, Jazz Age, Mutual Pining, its a great gatsby au alright
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: Alphonso Mackenzie never expected to become the audience to a tragic love story involving a dear friend and a mysterious man, and yet, it happened.Roberto Reyes, newly-rich and longtime-lonely, lives in West Egg, stuck in the past until the future can become a viable option. Daisy Johnson Ward, a golden girl trapped in an old mansion and an unhappy marriage, finds happiness in the form of an old flame.Or: Great Gatsby AU





	1. Chapter 1

My father had always been a man of God, a steadfast soldier who would have sooner shaken hands with the enemy than shoot them, and as a young boy I often marveled at his penchant for diplomacy. Intrigued to know his secret, I found myself in his office from time to time, asking after him for his strategies of success.

 

It was after the second or third time that my father unearthed a leather-bound Bible from the rows of his bookshelf. I was nearing fourteen at the time, but I felt like a child again as he smiled at me.

 

“Do you know what this is, Alfie?” he asked, and I answered him with all the confidence a boy raised on scripture possessed.

 

“Correct. Remember, son, only God may judge us, and however wicked a man’s heart might be, it is only our job to make it purer, not to condemn him for his having it. Until the day he takes his last breath, you have to treat him as your brother and your equal, for love is far more powerful than ceaseless judgment.”

 

That day, I left his office with the leather Bible in my hands and a piece of advice that would forever shape me.

* * *

 

Years later, as the war ended, so did many lives and tethers of hope. I, however, determined to find beauty in the world despite its undeniable vulgarity, persevered.

 

Perhaps becoming a bondsman wasn’t the best way to do so, but it was at the end of spring that I found myself blessed with a particularly fine lodging situation. Some fellow called Reyes had been renting out his unused groundskeeper’s cottage near the edge of the bay of Long Island for a shockingly small sum, and I found it would be rejecting a miracle if I didn’t seize the opportunity.

 

It was a humble but beautiful little place, lost in the grounds next to the man Reyes’ enormous palace (there was really no other word for it), and overlooked the sparkling water of the bay , always graced with the constant miasma of flowers and ripe fruit that hung like jewels from trees in the garden.  

It was in West Egg, another reason the price of my lodging came as such a surprise, for West Egg was known for extravagance, but I could hardly complain.

 

Still, my residence at West Egg gave me an irrefutable proximity to an old friend, and I decided that they were more than due a visit.

 

The scent of honeysuckle wreathed the air the same way its vines wrapped around the bars of the open gate as I drove through it, taking in the mansion before me, the pillared residence of Grant and Daisy Ward.

 

A servant hurried to guide me to the door once I had parked, though I had no need of his services; however, I complied with his direction anyway.

 

I was greeted by the butler first, and the man of the house, Grant Ward, second. I found my father’s advice hardest to follow when it came to Grant, for the man was easily unlikable. His handsome visage did little to counteract the perpetual sneer that was his default expression, and his broad shoulders and vise-like grip during handshakes was the first sign that he wanted you to know that he was not a man to be trifled with. Grant was the type of man I’d been raised to know how to cope with, and so I dealt with him the best I could during our interactions.

 

We made polite small talk as he led me to the parlor, conversing about the weather and my relatively new work as a bondsman, trivial matters compared to what was yet to come.  

 

The open windows of the parlor sent linen curtains fluttering in the breeze, long, light green ribbons of fabric that twisted and snapped in the air, a low murmur of conversation joining the rustling curtains and the whistle of a boat out on the bay.

 

A chaise lounge chair cushioned with white satin creaked, and all talk stopped with a delighted “Mack!” and from out behind the rippling, airborne cloth came one of my dearest friends, Daisy. My interactions with Grant were left in the dust, forgotten as I looked upon the smile of an old friend. Her hair had grown since I’d last seen her, now woven into the curls so often worn by the starlets of the day, her warm brown eyes sparkling as she came to greet me.

 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any taller, you had to go and prove me wrong,” she said, raising her chin to look up at me. I am many things, but a man of short stature has never been one of them, and Daisy in particular I towered over. “Have a little mercy on your best friend and lean down so I can hug you properly,” she ordered goodnaturedly, and as I obliged her, a husky laugh from further away prompted me to look over Daisy’s shoulder to see another woman rise from the chair.

 

“Is the friend you’ve refused to be quiet about all day, Daisy?” she said, and I was a bit moonstruck by the rasp in her voice and the way words became thicker on her tongue; its deepness reminded me of black coffee. Her voice wasn’t the only unconventional thing about her, there were the men’s trousers she wore, as if they’d been made for her and no one else. Her dark hair was plaited over one shoulder, and a gold cross hung on a simple chain around her neck.

 

“Yes! Yes, he is,” Daisy said, pulling me over to the other woman, “Mack, this is Elena Rodriguez, I knew her back in the day, while you and Grant were at college. Elena, this is Alphonso Mackenzie, but don’t call him that or he’ll leave.”

 

“You know I will,” I said genially, and Daisy laughed.

 

Elena’s name sounded familiar, and I rolled it around in my mouth for a few moments as we shook hands when it dawned on me. “Oh, you’re _the_ Elena Rodriguez,” I said, and whatever embarrassment I felt at my confusion melted in the warmth of her smile.

 

“That’s my name, try to not wear it out,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but feel a little awed. I knew who she was, anyone who was relatively informed about sports of any kind knew about Elena “Yo-Yo” Rodriguez, a Colombian tennis player widely known for refusing to adhere to tournament dress codes and brazen statements in terms of her critics.

 

She was an admirable person, to say the least.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here,” Elena remarked, clearly trying to deduce which of the ivory mansions in East Egg was mine.

 

“Mack lives in West Egg, even though I offered him a room here,” Daisy informed Elena with a long-suffering sigh.

 

“It was less of a drive to get to the city,” I said lamely.

 

“You live in West Egg?” Elena’s gaze turned towards me. I began to explain the terms of my living arrangement for the summer. After doing a series of calculations I had come to the conclusion that between the rent and gas money for my car it would have been far more prudent to live in the cottage in West Egg rather than add on the distance that came with East Egg, much farther removed from the world than most. I decided not to inform them that a large part of my decision had been made with the consideration that I would see far less of Grant Ward that way.

 

“How wonderful,” Elena said when I had finished, “It sounds quaint. You ought to show it to me sometime.”

 

“Certainly,” I said, a bit flustered by her directness.

 

“Tell me, Mack, do you know a man by the name of Reyes over in West Egg?” Elena inquired. The name was like a tuning fork being brought down on a silver bell, and I almost laughed at the sheer coincidence of it all.

 

“Well, actually-”

 

“Reyes?” Daisy said suddenly. “What Reyes?”

 

Elena and I were about to chime in our explanations when Grant made himself known, loudly and unwieldy as he re-entered the room, though none of us had taken any notice to his departure, announcing that dinner was ready. We all swept from the room like a gust of wind, and the mention of Reyes was blown away to another realm, forgotten.

 

Daisy and Elena continued to speak a topic that I can no longer recall, and Grant and I, with our polarizing interests, ate silently, though he occasionally attempted to make small talk. Be it the rosé wine or the languid hypnosis that came with Elena’s voice in the background, I found myself exhausted with his verbal ministrations, and only humored him with one-word answers.

 

Still, there was an intimate atmosphere at the table, and as we dined on roast beef and spinach bisque I wondered how Daisy got on in this house when Elena wasn’t around. It seemed far too large for her and Grant, despite the number of servants, and there was a distance between them I had yet to note until Elena mentioned her difficulties with an upcoming match. She was reluctant to wear the uniform provided, and was having a spectacular time arguing with the owners of the court to allow her to dress at her leisure.

 

“Will they disqualify you?” I asked, and she only smirked at the question.

 

“Perhaps, but it would be silly to. They can complain about how ‘challenging’ I am as long as they wish, but my terms remain. If they do so, I can simply claim that they are afraid I will beat their champion. A man’s pride is so easily wounded,” she sighed.

 

“Hang on, now,” Grant interjected. “Why not just wear the damn uniform?” He seemed a bit chuffed at Elena’s last remark.

 

“Language, Grant,” Daisy reprimanded.

 

“I’m serious. What’s so bad about it?” Grant said. “It’s not as if it’s unflattering on you.”

 

“Forgive me, Grant,” Elena said, a note of disdain in her tone, “But I don’t care if the uniform is flattering or not. I’m simply not comfortable wearing it. I’d rather be less restrained running across the court, not having to concern myself with those who become offended if my skirt flies up.”

 

“You’d have more supporters that way,” Grant argued.

 

“My job is to play tennis, not to give men a pair of legs to look at.”

 

“If only more women had your idea of modesty,” Grant lamented. “Have you seen the way they dress these days? Smoking in public, with those damn skirts that barely cover the necessities, it’s scandalous. Honestly, the way everything’s gone to the dogs, soon women will have the vote and then we’ll all be in trouble!”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Elena and Daisy exchange a glance before simultaneously raising a wineglass to their lips.

 

“Seems you’ll have to beat us girls all down, Grant,” Daisy said patronizingly, catching my eye and winking.

 

“Hopefully the country will come to its senses before that becomes necessary,” Grant said, either oblivious of the sarcasm or ignoring it, “I’m telling you-”

 

At that moment, a telephone rang, tinny and high, cutting him off.

 

“Excuse me,” Grant said, pushing his chair back, and all but rushing out of the room. I turned back to the women at the table to make a joke, but the air was now charged with something solemn. Daisy seemed tense, running a nail round the rim of her glass. Elena moved to cover Daisy’s  hand with her own, but Daisy pulled away, some sort of storm in her eyes. I was about to ask if she was alright when she mirrored Grant’s movements and left the room, her white dress swirling as she slammed the dining room door behind her, making the pebbled glass panes in the frame rattle.

 

Searching for something to say, I tried to speak to Elena. “Say, Miss Rodriguez, about that Reyes you spoke of-”

 

“Shh,” she said, her eyes on the recently closed door, “I want to know what’s going on.”

 

“Is something wrong?” I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper.

 

“You didn’t know?” Elena said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Know what?”

 

“Grant’s got some girl, in New York, I think.” Elena’s expression was stony.

 

Knowing Grant, the news didn’t surprise me completely, but I felt indignation on Daisy’s behalf. Daisy was more than adept at fulfilling any needs in our friendship; I couldn’t imagine why Grant would go looking elsewhere for affection.

 

“You’d think she’d be a decent woman and not call at dinner,” Elena said bitterly, and as she spoke, a feminine shout echoed, and then silence.

 

Moments later, the glass in the door showed the distorted forms of Daisy’s white dress, and she soon breezed through with a smile that now looked forced, with Grant on her heels.

 

“Sorry, darlings,” she entreated of us, “Couldn’t be helped.”

 

Our dinner ended quickly after that, as most of us seemed to have lost our appetite for a similar cause, though perhaps it evoked different feelings in all of us. Daisy insisted that she and I have some time to ourselves, and so we stepped out onto the grounds. Daisy had forgone her shoes, barefoot in the grass as we walked. It made her seem younger, happier even.

 

“Are you still God’s son, Mack?” she asked me.

 

“Always,” I replied sincerely.

 

She smiled, sadly, though. “I’d hoped so. You know me, I’ve never found as much comfort in all that, but...well, with the war and everything, I’ve known so many to lose faith. I told myself, ‘If there’s anyone you can rely on to still have hope, it’s Mack, Daisy.’” She grasped my hand, though it could have easily swallowed up both of hers. “We haven’t seen each other in so long, I worried I’d lose you as my friend. You never did come to my wedding.”

 

“The war was still going on then, I was fighting,” I reminded her.

 

“Oh. Of course. Sorry, I hated hearing about it all so much I think I made myself forget it at times.” She dropped my hand. “I’ve become so sad and cynical about everything, Mack,” she said, gazing out to the beach, over the bay.

 

I was unsure how to respond, but I didn’t need to, as she turned to me. “Can I come visit you, sometime?” she asked. “I don’t always like being here, there’s so little to do and I’m always alone.”

 

“Of course,” I said. “Still, you’ve got such a big house, there must be something you can entertain yourself with.”

 

“It _is_ a big house, isn’t it?” said Daisy, revolving slightly to stare at the stark walls and jet roof, and I watched her appraise it, suddenly realizing how very small she must have felt in it, when Grant was off with his girl and Elena was absent for company.

 

“So very big,” she whispered quietly, more to herself than to me. I felt very sorry in that moment, apologetic that there was nothing I could do to make her sad lifestyle a little better.

* * *

 

The moon was full and Elena had gone to bed by the time I left, sighing about her meeting with the court owners of her match the next day, and as I trod down to my car, Daisy was intent on assuring me that Elena and I would meet again.

 

“You two would get along wonderfully,” she said excitedly as Grant lounged behind us, bored and sullen. “I’m determined to have you both be the best of friends by the end of this summer. I’ll trap you in taxis and strand you out in the middle of the bay if I must.”

 

“All these years and you’re still the driving force behind my social life,” I sighed, starting my car.

 

“Have to make myself useful somehow,” she laughed. “Good-bye, Mack. I hope to see you soon.”

 

I bid her and Grant adieu as I drove away, reflecting on the afternoon and subsequent evening’s events and the curiosity of it all.

* * *

 

It must have been a quarter to midnight when I returned to the cottage, and I parked my car in the provided shed, and walked down into the garden, marveling at its beauty in the night.

 

I was just wondering whether anyone would care if I happened to take a ruby-red apple from a nearby tree when I noticed him. The mist coiled in transparent clouds over the water of the bay, wreathing the dock at the edge of the beach with an almost purposeful formation. At the edge of the salt-stained, wooden dock stood a figure, a man, I assumed. The moonlight rendered the white of his suit almost iridescent, as if shining down on one of its celestial brethren that had fallen to Earth, giving him an almost angelic aura.

 

He didn’t appear to be in any hurry, and though his back was to me, it seemed that he was lost in thought, gazing out over the bay towards some indifferent glowing light, yellow and faint at the end of an opposite dock across the water. I felt as though I was intruding on something private, be it his own ruminations or a secret tryst with the stars; I nonetheless found myself captivated by the raw vulnerability of this self-intimacy.

 

An eternity passed, and the pinprick lights of the stars shone on, observing him alongside me. Finally, with no warning, the man retreated from the dock, and to my astonishment, walked almost reluctantly back to the marble palace erected beside my humble cottage, and at that moment I realized that he had to be the Reyes that Elena had mentioned earlier.

 

I had honestly never met Mr. Reyes, to tell the truth. All matters concerning my renting of the cottage had taken place between myself and a series of nameless servants. I had never breathed a word to the man, let alone seen his face, but now I felt that I had seen something even more secretive. My intrusion felt something akin to David and Bathsheba, and as I descended to sleep that night, I wondered what sort of things the summer ahead had in store for me.


	2. Chapter 2

On one of the following days, I found myself at the Ward residence on the same day that Elena Rodriguez was scheduled to play at Westchester. I had no sooner knocked on the door when Daisy flung it open with a childlike excitement, beaming. She was dressed in a modest powder blue dress, her clasped hands sheathed in gloves, and her brown eyes gleamed from behind the lace veil of her hat. 

 

“You’re ready, I assume?” I said as she breezed past me, twirling in the grass. One of the admirable things about her was her unending passion for all events, no matter how trivial they seemed. 

 

“Of course! I’ve been waiting for weeks.” She turned back inside the house, calling, “Come on, now, Elena, you don’t want to be late to your own match!” 

 

“Oh, I prefer to keep them waiting,” Elena’s voice said behind me, and as I turned, I was once again struck by her undeniable poise and style. She had evidently won her argument over the uniform, as she was clad in a clean white polo shirt that showed the sinewed tone of her arms, the collar splayed open to reveal the golden cross nesting in the dip of her collarbone. The most explosive of the ensemble, however, were the crisp pants that brushed the very tops of her shoes. She winked at me, adjusting her newsboy cap with one hand, the other swinging a tennis racquet back and forth as she leaned casually against the doorframe of the Ward mansion, saying, “I like reminding people who’s in control.”

 

“You’re so wicked, Elena,” Daisy laughed. “Isn’t she, Mack?” 

 

“I’d move to use the term ‘dynamic,’” I replied, pulling my gaze from Elena. 

 

Elena pushed off the doorframe, tapping me on the shoulder with the racquet as she passed. “You were right, Daisy. I do like him,” she said, smiling up at me. For what she lacked in height, she made up in personality and an adept talent at merely existing. 

 

Daisy was grinning from ear to ear in satisfaction at Elena’s words and the unsubtle awe in my expression, but said nothing of it, only ushered us down to the car in wild ecstasy. I watched her, and the distinct contrast to the sad, lonely girl I’d spoken with a few nights ago made me wonder about Daisy and the weather of her emotions, if there was anything to be done about stabilizing the constant storm within her.

* * *

 

Elena Rodriguez was, simply put, exquisitely unstoppable. I understood now, why people called her “Yo-Yo,” watching her dart back and forth across the courts in long, powerful strides. With one particularly powerful smack of her racquet, her braid became dislodged from the confines of her cap, and it snapped back and forth like a whip in the tense air. I almost felt sympathetic for the ball that soared back and forth across the green cement, seeing the way Elena’s eyes narrowed at it like a cat monitoring its prey, her teeth bared as she swung her racquet like a sword. 

 

The crowds surrounding the court were silent, the only sound being the echo of the ball in its meetings with the ground and opponents’ racquets; it was as if no one dared even breathe. Next to me, Daisy’s eyes followed the ball, her lips slightly parted in anticipation for a break in the stalemate.

 

And then it happened.

 

Elena’s opponent stumbled, and rather than hit the middle of the wound strings of her racquet, the ball ricocheted off of the steel rim, flying out of bounds. The crowd erupted, and Elena finally slowed in her movements, shoulders relaxing but still broad with pride, stretching the muscles in her neck. A triumphant smile bordering on a smirk found its way onto her lovely features, and she glanced up at us, where Daisy and I cheered loudly, our voices lost in the roar.

 

“Isn’t she marvelous?” Daisy shouted over the din, and I had neither the time nor volume to communicate what an understatement I found that to be.

 

Daisy took my hand, pulling me through the crowd, evidently using the fact of my size as a way to rebuff the surrounding people. We stepped onto the court, and Daisy flung herself into a well-received hug. 

 

“You were fantastic!” said Daisy, and Elena grinned back at us. 

 

“I know,” she said, breathless as she turned to me. I stared at her, suddenly lost for words. Her olive complexion was flushed, and sweat gleamed on her brow and the chain of her necklace. 

 

“I-well done,” I stammered finally, extending a hand. Amused, she took it. 

 

“Tell me, Mack,” she said, using her grip on my hand to tug me closer, “Will I see you at any more of these?” 

 

Something sparkled in her eye, and I found myself stumbling on words before I managed, “I certainly hope so.” 

 

“We’ve got to celebrate,” Daisy said emphatically, delighted by this exchange, “Come on, now, my treat, there’s a lovely restaurant a few miles from here!” 

 

Elena and I shared a glance, seemingly conveying our love for a mutual friend in that split second. It would be a crime to contradict, we decided, though our agreement was completely nonverbal, and so we all made our way toward the car, laughing and marveling over Elena’s performance. It was in one of these moments that I looked at the two women accompanying me and I decided that I would not give up knowing them for all the money in the world.

* * *

 

Later, I sat in a lovely wicker chair on the porch, spent and still smiling from the day’s events, when I noticed a chap in a robin’s egg blue suit coming up the path toward me. He introduced himself as Mr. Reyes’ chauffeur and that he was here to deliver a message. He handed me a cream-colored note sealed with wax, bowed slightly, and then smartly walked away. 

 

It was curious, yes, but not so curious as the red seal on the outside of the note, an intricate capital  _ R _ stamped into faintly warm wax. I broke it, examining the curved writing within. It was a note from Mr. Reyes himself, apologizing that we had not spoken before, but that he wanted to personally invite me to his “small gathering” in just a day or two’s time, and that I was more than welcome to bring a friend if I so chose. Adding that he looked forward to our meeting, the letter ended with the signature of one Mr. Roberto Reyes. 

 

Intrigued, I folded the paper back, finding myself further plunged into the enigma that was Mr. Reyes, having no idea what this “small gathering” would bring, only a premonition that it would shake my very foundations.


	3. Chapter 3

I called Elena the next day at Daisy and Grant’s, unsure of whether or not she was still swept up in the wake of her victory. A butler answered the phone instead, and then he transferred me over to Daisy, whose musical voice rang through the receiver like a bird’s song. I explained that I had been invited to a party, and was wondering if she and Elena would like to come with me. 

 

Delighted that I had sought out Elena’s company, Daisy informed me that Elena was at lunch with some associates, but assured me that she would pass on the message as needed. 

 

“I’d love to go with you two, but unfortunately I have a prior engagement tomorrow night,” she sighed apologetically, though I suspected she was trying to ensure that Elena and I were alone. “Where is this party, anyhow?” 

 

“At my-ah, landlord’s house. Reyes is his name.” 

 

There was silence at the other end, a silence that caused the seconds to stretch into years. Afraid that our connection had been lost, I tentatively said, “Daisy? Are you still there?” 

 

“Oh! Yes, sorry, I was just thinking,” she said, her words rushed. “I’ll be sure to tell Elena you called. I hope you two have a wonderful time. Goodbye, Mack.”

 

“Daisy, wait-”

 

There was a click, and she had hung up. I frowned, setting the phone back down. Twice now, she had exhibited such curious behavior at the sound of this Reyes’ name. I couldn’t imagine that she knew him, as they lived in such vastly different areas; I myself lived right next to the man and had never met him. 

 

Still, I coaxed myself into banishing the thought of Daisy’s queer actions from my mind as I once again perused the invitation that had been so carefully delivered to me.

* * *

 

Later that day, I watched from the window of my cottage, astounded at the sheer quantity of goods that arrived on Mr. Reyes’ marble doorstep. The parade of wooden crates seemed like a river that flowed into his home, and I stared in a sort of dumbstruck fascination at the boxes of fruit and champagne and flower arrangements that swirled around the open door, wondering what sort of business Reyes had in order to sustain such luxury. I even found myself pawing through the three suits I owned, anxious at presenting my own humble wealth. I sighed, picking lint and dust off of the more formal of the three when the sudden braying of what sounded like a tuba startled me, and the contents of my closet fell to the floor as I rushed to the window to investigate. To my shock, I witnessed the entirety of an orchestra filing into the mansion, gawking at the musicians and their array of brass and steel instruments that glinted in the sun, followed by an enormous drum. 

 

Incredulous, I began to ponder what sort of man my neighbor truly was when the phone rang, the receiver rattling in its thin frame, and I rushed to answer its tinny call. 

 

“Hello, Mack.” Elena’s genteel voice greeted me with a sort of sensual grace that was always present about her, only now it seeped through phone lines and filled the air with the same confidence that her presence brought. 

 

“I heard you had a proposition for me,” she said lightly after we had exchanged greetings and usual courtesies. 

 

I explained to her the circumstances of my invitation in a long-winded, rambling story, but as I neared the end, my point finally got across: “...and anyway, I was just wondering if you’d like to come with me. I can pick you up from Daisy’s, if you like.” 

 

“At Reyes’, you say?” Elena said, musing. “That does sound fun. I’d love to accompany you, but you needn’t worry about coming to get me; I’ll just borrow one of Grant’s cars… don’t tell him, though,” she adds with a conspiratorial whisper. 

 

“Your secret is safe with me,” I promised.

 

“I knew you were a trustworthy man,” Elena replied. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

“I painstakingly await the grace of your presence,” I said. 

 

“Such poetry, I must keep you around,” she said warmly. “Til later, Mack.”

 

I bid her goodbye and set the phone back upon its receiver, feeling an incredible rush, akin to the feeling one feels when they are dreaming and begin to fall through their own subconscious world. Truly, Elena had a profound effect that seemed almost celestial. 

 

The chaos at Reyes’ seemed only to get more and more wild, particularly as the day went on and cars began to file into the large, paved driveway that appeared to have been tailored for exactly these types of gatherings. I watched as fellows in suits and girls in beaded dresses streamed for the double doors, already laughing and calling to one another amidst the haze of still-arriving refreshments, though I didn’t think any of them had ever truly spoken an honest and meaningful word to each other.

At about half-past seven I ventured outside, the music swelling to just over a roar without the barrier of the wooden walls of my house, and I stood for a while on the porch, dazedly absorbing the flurry of skirts and spilled drinks around me. A well-dressed waiter offered me a tray of champagne flutes, and I took one as the thought of declining didn’t feel polite to me.  

 

The champagne was of decent quality, though I suspected that too many of those consuming it were too intoxicated to care whether or not they were being given adequate spirits. This suspicion was only confirmed when a couple of English gentlemen with a girl on each arm ordered me to bring them more champagne. Merely stating that I was not a waiter, I turned away, draining my own glass and feeling the bubbles ebb on my tongue, though it proved difficult for even the sweet fizz to rinse the taste of indignation out of my mouth. 

 

“Mack!” 

 

Relieved to hear the familiar sound of my own name, I turned, only to see Elena Rodriguez herself striding across the lawn towards me, pausing only to take a quick detour around a woman in a lilac dress who lay in the grass, wailing over the snapped stem of her wine glass. 

 

I’d been taught that staring was rude, of course, but it was difficult to break my gaze away from her. Once again, she had forgone a dress in favor of a sleek black tunic and pants. The soft light of the dusk shone on her broad shoulders and the chain of her golden necklace, and I noticed that a few people had broken out of their frivolous, self-centered celebrations to pay attention in similar ways to mine; however, whether it was due to her attire or her fame, I couldn’t say.

 

“There you are,” Elena said. “I thought you might be inside, but there were so many people I knew it was a lost cause to look for you there.” 

 

“I haven’t even been inside,” I admitted.

 

She chuckled, exchanging my empty glass for a full one from a passing waiter’s tray, her fingers brushing against mine as she handed me the drink.

 

“I thought you said you lived here.”

 

“Well, I do.”  I turned to point at the small wooden cottage, suddenly a bit embarrassed by the vast difference in size between my humble abode and Reyes’ marble mansion. 

 

“It’s so darling,” Elena remarked genuinely. “Come on, you’ve got to see what this place looks like on the inside.” She looped her arm through mine, her hand curling around my bicep, and guided me from my place on the outskirts of the hurricane that had become of this “small gathering,” and further into the storm.

* * *

 

And what a storm it was! The room was awash with champagne and voices that clamored to be louder than their competition, a mass of well-dressed bodies and sparkling lights. Perfumes coalesced in the air, but the heady scent in the air seemed to pale in comparison to my companion.

 

Elena found herself drawn in by two young women with brightly colored dresses seated at a table. We sat with them, perhaps out of Elena’s courtesy as they cooed over her victory earlier in the week. 

 

“It truly was something,” one girl dressed in teal gushed to the man sitting across from us. “Really, Victor, you’d have never seen someone play so well!” 

 

“In women’s tennis, perhaps,”  he replied, and Elena’s eyes narrowed a bit at him. She seemed as though about to debate with him, but seemed to think better of it. 

 

“Do you come to these parties often?” she asked of the girl in teal. 

 

“I come when I’m available,” the girl answered. “I’m a model, you see, so I’m quite busy, but there’s always a few cars sent into the city for those who want to come, and who am I to turn that down?” 

 

“Say, you know the funniest thing happened last time I was here?” the other girl, this one clad in light pink, broke in. “I lost one of my shoes, and clean snapped the heel off of the other one, raised a bit of hell over it to a butler and just a few days later I got a package from the brand. Same shoes, down to the size.” 

 

“Did you keep them?” Elena asked.

 

“Well, of course!”

 

“Who on earth sent them to you?” a fellow next to Victor asked.

 

“Well,” the girl drawled, rolling the next word on her tongue, “Reyes, of course!” 

 

The atmosphere of the table changed then, like the air before a lightning strike. 

 

“The host, you mean?” I said, and my words seemed to be the electrified spear that set the table off. 

 

“They say that he’s the one the Germans were trying to send the Zimmerman note to in Mexico,” Victor said, leaning forward. 

 

“That’s ridiculous, he’s American, he fought in the war,” the girl in pink said.

 

“He certainly doesn’t look American,” Victor retorted. 

 

“You know that doesn’t mean anything these days-”

 

“Victor, you’ve  _ seen _ him?” the girl in teal interjected. All eyes turned to him, and he seemed to bask in the warmth of their attention. 

 

“Just once,” Victor admitted, “But yes.” His reluctance to say any more on the matter told me that he knew little, and I could see in Elena’s eyes that she knew it too.

 

“Well, Victor?” she drawled. “Care to enlighten us?” 

 

He sputtered for a few minutes, trying to change the subject and Elena, sure that the table was exhausted of any excitement, bid farewell to the others as she rose gracefully from her seat, picking me up in her wake. 

 

Her curiosity had been piqued now, and we wandered around the massive house, asking around for Reyes. Elena seemed determined to find him. “I’ve never met him,” she explained, “It doesn’t feel right.” 

 

Still, our hours-long search proved fruitless, and so we retreated from the crowded indoors and took our place back out in the garden. The orchestra played some sort of smooth tune I wasn’t familiar with, but with all the swaying couples that bent in the draping air like reeds in the wind, it seemed I wasn’t the only one captivated. The moon was full and bright in the sky, and even with all the chaos that had gone on this evening, I felt strangely calm at the sight of it. 

 

“These damned shoes are killing me,” Elena said, “Let’s go sit again.”

 

We sat at a table near the edge of the lawn, where a well-dressed man and clearly intoxicated girl were. Her inebriation was due to the rather large glasses of champagne on the table, and Elena and I indulged ourselves a little more. Elena scanned the lawn, her eyes roving every blade of grass as she searched for something thrilling. 

 

“Excuse me.” 

 

I broke my attention away from her and paid it to the well-dressed gentleman beside us, who had spoken. He was different from the other party-goers. There was something quiet about him, some sort of sadness in his tan face, like there were bad memories dotted amongst the freckles.

 

“Sorry, but you seem rather familiar. Were you in the Third Division, during the war?”

 

Incredulous, I nodded. “I was, in the ninth machine-gun battalion. And yourself?” 

 

He seemed relieved at my words. “Seventh Infantry. I knew I’d seen you before.” 

 

We exchanged simple information, when we’d enlisted, the time we’d gotten home, the sort of places we’d been. There was a camaraderie there, thicker than just that of veterans. This felt real, more honest. 

 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, just as I was about to ask his name. 

 

“Sort of. These sorts of gatherings aren’t quite a normalcy for me, but Elena-” I turned to introduce her, but she was talking to a butler, evidently trying to get some information out of him about Reyes. “-Elena is a bit more used to them, I think, so I’m learning from her. It’s a queer party, you know? I haven’t even met the host yet. I live there, in that cottage near the edge of the trees, and Reyes sent over a man with an invitation.”

 

His brow furrowed for a moment, a bit confused.

 

“I’m Reyes,” he said, casual and sudden. 

 

I was taken aback. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I-” 

 

“I thought you knew me,  _ viejo _ . I’m not a very good host, I’m afraid.” A small shadow of an understanding smile crossed his face. It spoke volumes in a language I had no hope of understanding, but I was struck with a feeling that I was looking at someone with an ancient soul. 

 

Before I could say anything else, a servant of some sort came over, and whispered something to him that was lost in the music to me. Reyes sighed and rose to his feet. 

 

“Anything you want is yours, my friend,” he said,taking his leave. “However, you’ll have to excuse me for now, but I’ll speak to you later.” He winked as he left. 

 

The moment he was gone I hurried over to Elena and told her of what had just transpired. Exasperated at her missed opportunity, she asked me a barrage of questions, ones that I had no answer to. Frustrated at her misfortune, she sighed.

 

“Did that butler tell you anything?”

 

“Only that Reyes used to be an Oxford man,” she replied. 

 

I started to consider that but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. 

 

“I don’t believe it, though.”

 

“Why not?” 

 

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right.” 

 

We pondered that in the moonlight, surrounded by jazz and intoxication. I myself was feeling a bit weighted by the alcohol, and it occurred suddenly that I had drunk far more than I thought. 

 

We danced for a short bit, but it was cut off by the butler Elena had pestered earlier weaving his way through the crowd, informing her that Mr. Reyes wished to have a word with her in private.

 

She was incredulous but seized the opportunity even without my encouragement. She apologized to me, saying that she’d had a fine time, but after this encounter she would be thoroughly exhausted and likely to go home. I assured her that I bore no ill will towards this, as I myself was rather weary of the evening’s proceedings. 

 

I watched her go, in that smart, confident stride she wore as well as the rest of her clothes, wondering what on Earth Reyes had to say to her.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof i know the style greatly decreased as the chapter went on...consider it a genius literary move to show Mack's intoxication...  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please!


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